I Wanna Be Paris
Cher is two and a half and it was time for me to bite the bullet and take her in for her first hair cut. Of course, she was petrified. Her older sister Pixie has indoctrinated her in the religion of hair and its innate value as a prop for awesomeness. So to help her get through the big cut, I brought both of them to Supercuts (sold as "the beauty salon") for a sisters-trim.
I had to sell it the right way. They were going to be more beautiful afterwards. Trims keep your hair healthy. They were starting to look like street bums. It would be easier to brush. But they were still tearing up at the idea of cutting of their golden locks. The clock was ticking and the hairdresser would call us to her station any minute. I couldn't send them in their tearful state and needed something. My eyes locked on a Glamour magazine. "Girls," I said, "look through this magazine and find a picture of the hair style you'd like. Then show the picture to the hairdresser and she'll make you look just like it." The fell for it and smushed into a chair together, excitedly turning through the pages of the magazine.
They quietly conferred over each picture. Then Pixie shouted, "Mommy! I want hair like this!" She held up a photo. It was Paris Hilton, pinch-faced and bare bodied, dressed as a mermaid with long, fake blond hair cascading down her torso. (See the picture here). I couldn't take away her dream now. "Great hon! Bring that picture up and you can look just like it." Pixie was sold. But Cher still browsed the pages anxiously. Would the trick work twice?
"Oooh, I want this! I want this!" Cher held up a photo of a woman and her dog and pointed to the dog. A lovely golden retriever with, let's face it, great hair. That would have to do.
"Pixie? Cher?" called the hair stylist. We were up. The girls couldn't wait to show their dream hair cut photos to the styles and I had to give her a helpful wink to let her know to play along. Luckily, it worked. Armed with their photos, the two kids made it through the shampoo station, the brushing and the cuts with wide grins on their faces. And by the time we left, Pixie was convinced that her new shoulder-length bob made her look exactly like a siren and Cher's 1/2 inch trim was enough to make her bark like a noble retriever.
I never thought I would say it, but thank you, Paris. You're a lifesaver.
I had to sell it the right way. They were going to be more beautiful afterwards. Trims keep your hair healthy. They were starting to look like street bums. It would be easier to brush. But they were still tearing up at the idea of cutting of their golden locks. The clock was ticking and the hairdresser would call us to her station any minute. I couldn't send them in their tearful state and needed something. My eyes locked on a Glamour magazine. "Girls," I said, "look through this magazine and find a picture of the hair style you'd like. Then show the picture to the hairdresser and she'll make you look just like it." The fell for it and smushed into a chair together, excitedly turning through the pages of the magazine.They quietly conferred over each picture. Then Pixie shouted, "Mommy! I want hair like this!" She held up a photo. It was Paris Hilton, pinch-faced and bare bodied, dressed as a mermaid with long, fake blond hair cascading down her torso. (See the picture here). I couldn't take away her dream now. "Great hon! Bring that picture up and you can look just like it." Pixie was sold. But Cher still browsed the pages anxiously. Would the trick work twice?
"Oooh, I want this! I want this!" Cher held up a photo of a woman and her dog and pointed to the dog. A lovely golden retriever with, let's face it, great hair. That would have to do.
"Pixie? Cher?" called the hair stylist. We were up. The girls couldn't wait to show their dream hair cut photos to the styles and I had to give her a helpful wink to let her know to play along. Luckily, it worked. Armed with their photos, the two kids made it through the shampoo station, the brushing and the cuts with wide grins on their faces. And by the time we left, Pixie was convinced that her new shoulder-length bob made her look exactly like a siren and Cher's 1/2 inch trim was enough to make her bark like a noble retriever.
I never thought I would say it, but thank you, Paris. You're a lifesaver.
Comments
And all these years I've been bribing my kids with chocolate.